


Vyq Agctu Ncvgt

by MuseofWriting



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Aftermath, Gen, Post-Canon, Timeskip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24078745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuseofWriting/pseuds/MuseofWriting
Summary: Time has passed. Some things change, others don't.Originally written from a prompt: "You should write a story about gravity falls, do the aftermath of the series finale. First sentence: It’s been two years since we have been to gravity falls. Like it will be about Dipper and Mabel trying to get back to a normal life."
Relationships: Dipper Pines & Ford Pines & Mabel Pines & Stan Pines, Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines, Mabel Pines & Waddles
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33





	Vyq Agctu Ncvgt

**Author's Note:**

> As part of what's now an ongoing project to repost my favorites of my old one-shots onto AO3, have a Gravity Falls fic from absolutely forever ago. Short n sweet.
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s been two years since we’ve been to Gravity Falls.

Two years, and I can still remember the moment we drove over border of the town, passed the edge of where Bill’s weirdness bubble had encased it. Maybe it was just my imagination, but it seemed like the grass changed color just slightly, like the air tasted a little bit flatter, and the dust on the windows settled into a different pattern. Mabel was busy eating chocolate and cuddling Waddles. I didn’t ask if she noticed anything.

Two years since Mabel jumped out of the bus and ran into our parents’ waiting arms talking a million miles an hour, introducing Waddles in the middle of the maelstrom and never giving Mom and Dad a real chance to object to him becoming the new family pet. They exchanged a “We’ll talk about this later” look but I guess by the time they thought to bring it back up Waddles had already established himself on a blanket in a corner of the living room, and neither of them really thought they were going to win that argument against Mabel. She’s a force of nature when she cares about something.

Two years since we started 8th grade together. We glanced at each other outside the old low concrete school building and Mabel gave me a brace-filled grin. “Are you nervous?” she asked.

“Between starting algebra and taking on an interdimensional demonic triangle bent on plunging the world into destructive chaos? I’ll take the triangle any day.” Mabel snorted giggles.

“Come on, bro-bro,” she said. “Let’s go kick eighth grade’s butt! Pines! Pines! Pines!” I followed her inside. Kids giving us snide sideways looks were easy to brush away. They’d need to take lessons on snide looks from Pacifica before they’d have a prayer of phasing us.

Two years of getting caught by teachers doodling Gremloblins and gnomes and Manotaurs in the margins of my notebooks. Two years of Mabel serenely giving boy advice to the fumbling nervous teenagers in our class.

A year and a half since I stopped feeling a twinge of trepidation every time I went to sleep. Eight months since the last time I woke up in a sweat after dreaming of a world drained of all color save a glowing yellow triangle.

Sixteen months since Mabel last broke something with her grappling hook. Four months since she ran screaming out of the school library because Gabe was doing a show for the second-grade class there.

Two years of Mabel scrapbooking everything, and sending a picture of the two of us to Grunkle Stan along with every letter. The first time she slid it into the envelope, she looked at me and said, “Just in case.”

Two years of long phone calls with Candy and Grenda. Two years of FaceTime with Wendy while we watch terrible zombie movies together. Two years of getting the Mystery Shack’s new ad campaign letter every month, along with a note from Soos. Two years of spotty postcards from Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford, recounting adventures our parents refuse to believe.

The weird exists here too, just in smaller doses. Barely a week into 8th grade I realized the reason everyone complained about losing their extra socks and shorts in the locker room was because they were being stolen and hoarded by a small creature that unravels fabric and eats it. I probably would have thought it was cute if it didn’t smell like boys’ gym socks. I named it the raveler and sent a sketch of it to Grunkle Ford. It tried to unravel my face when I tried to take it outside but Mabel defeated it by distracting it with her sweater.

A month later, Mabel figured out the music teacher was really a ghost. The two of them had a chat and Mabel decided that all in all the music teacher really wasn’t such a bad lady, she just needed to get some anger management counseling. Grunkle Ford didn’t believe me when I sent him a letter that said, “Some ghosts can be reasoned with. Who knew?!” Grunkle Stan told Mabel he hoped she was doing the counseling herself and squeezing the ghost lady for all she was worth.

Twenty months since we rescued Jake Keenan from a cursed pair of tennis shoes and word got around to the student body that Mabel and I were bizarrely well-versed on the weird and the paranormal. We’d been telling stories, of course, but everyone just assumed we were making them up.

(We didn’t talk about Weirdmageddon, or the portal, or anything to do with Bill. Somehow, the rest of the world hadn’t noticed the weirdness bubble that formed over Gravity Falls. Or maybe they had, but something told them talking too much about it was dangerous.)

Mabel isn’t allowed to bring her grappling hook to school anymore after the incident with the principal’s kid’s artwork, but sometimes a kid comes to us with a story of a ghost or something unexplained in the basement or the attic. We always investigate. More often than not, it’s flying squirrels in the roof or a malfunction in the boiler, but every now and again we get lucky. If we’re not careful we’ll turn into the Scooby-Doo gang, featuring Waddles instead of a talking dog. I’ve got my own journal now, too. I’ll try not to write about any demonic gods in it.

(Nine months since I caught myself sketching an eye and top hat on a triangle in my geometry textbook. I tore the page out and burned it.)

Last summer our parents took us on a family trip to Florida, so we didn’t get to go back to Gravity Falls. Florida was fun and sunny and we found a monster created out of the shredded paper of scripts Disney had rejected but it wasn’t Gravity Falls.

Two years and some of the weirdness has faded into pictures. In brightly lit rooms, surrounded by rational people, sometimes Weirdmageddon feels like a fever dream. But there’s a statue in the woods up in Oregon holding its hand out like it’s waiting for someone to take it up on a deal.

Mabel and I will be ready if they ever do.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!!
> 
> Comments give me some much needed boost to my confidence and happiness especially these days, and also incentive to keep working on my longer WIPs that I can't post yet. They make my day, and if you can spare a moment to leave me one, it will mean so much to me. <3
> 
> Come find me:  
> Tumblr: [@thatgirlonstage](https://thatgirlonstage.tumblr.com)  
> Twitter: [@MuseofWriting](https://twitter.com/MuseofWriting)


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